


Connected

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Cock Rings, Deaf Character, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, M/M, Mind Meld, Nipple Clamps, No Dialogue, Sign Language, Spanking, Submission, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst their normal games, Khan brings home an important experiment to his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbeyjewel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeyjewel/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for “Touch telepathy/sex/mind melds/extra kinky/nipple clamps/spanking/bondage/watersports/sign language/Deaf” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). OH GLOB I TRIED.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s dark out by the time he makes it home, though the sun was setting when he left. The experiment is, was, considered top priority—any developments to go straight through to Khan at any time. Now that it’s finished, Khan has the prototype in his pocket, fingers playing absently over the thin bottle while the apartment door slides shut behind him. 

Shrugging the long trench from his shoulders, Khan hangs it on the wall and kicks out of his shoes, strolling for the bedroom area and depositing that precious bottle on the nightstand. The glowing green liquid sloshes simply into place, set to glisten in the artificial city lights outside the glass wall of windows. Khan orders the curtains shut, and he heads to the bathroom, already aware that he’s reaching the limits of common courtesy. 

He’s left Pavel alone longer, of course, but usually in more comfortable locations. The shower never happened. Pavel’s still seated in the gleaming white bathtub, arms pulled behind his head, hands handcuffed around the faucet. He’s just as Khan left him: the silk blindfold, the silver metal nipple clamps, the custom collar not unlike a dog’s, and the tight ring around his pink cock. Khan walks up to the side of the tub, fully aware that his boyfriend can’t hear his approach, and he takes in the lovely scene of his relaxed, obedient slave. A truly amazing creature, this one, left so long and still not even squirming. Khan can feel his own smirk, and he strolls back to the toilet, fingers already on his crotch. 

He’s got his fly half down when he hears the chain jerk, and he glances back over his shoulder. Pavel’s head is tilted up, unable to quite see where he’s gone, but clearly aware that he’s _there_. Another look at the toilet, and Khan decides he can wait a few minutes. 

Coming back to Pavel, Khan reaches down to pet his soft curls, the reassuring touch that says: _I’m here_. Pavel leans into it, lips parting subtly, though no sound escapes. Perhaps his breathing quickens; he must’ve missed Khan, always does. Already too attached, Khan kneels down and slides his hand around to Pavel’s face, stroking Pavel’s cheek. Such a pretty thing. Khan presses a kiss to his forehead and idly reaches for the clamps around his nipples, tugging first one, then the other. Khan’s fingers slide all around the pebbled nubs, and Khan delights in the way Pavel leans so eagerly into the touch; he has such sensitive nipples. Khan plays with them a little more, and Pavel jerks on the chains again. 

Once is negligible, twice is a message. Khan pecks Pavel again to signal that he’s listening, and he finds the ends of the blindfold around the back of Pavel’s head. He makes short work of the knot and tugs it aside, tossing the fabric back towards the counter. 

Pavel’s hazel eyes flick up to him, and Khan indulges in a few more touches, stroking Pavel’s cheek again and tracing his pouting lips. Pavel subserviently waits, and finally, Khan pulls his hand back to lazily sign: _Are you okay?_

Pavel nods. But then his head turns to the side, his gaze fixed on Khan’s crotch. He bites his bottom lip in that oh-so-irresistible way of his. When he tries to push forward, he can’t get very far because of the handcuffs, but it’s clear what he wants. Khan signs: _I have to go first_. And Pavel looks up at him pleadingly, before looking and straining forward again and opening his mouth. 

With a sigh that Pavel can’t hear, Khan signs: _Are you going to be a good boy if I let you go?_ Pavel nods instantly, but it’s not really necessary—Pavel’s _always_ a good boy, and Khan knows that. He’s never once used the signal that will make Khan stop, he’s never shied away from anything Khan’s dished out, and he’s never directly disobeyed. Khan reaches behind him to key in the sequence across the small panel in the handcuffs, and when they open, Pavel relaxes his arms and takes a moment to rub his wrists.

Khan straightens out, prepared to use this time to relieve himself, but Pavel darts to grab his pant leg. Looking down, Khan watches as his boyfriend signs with rapidly moving fingers: _I could smell your cologne_.

Khan smirks. _Good boy._ He’s always impressed with Pavel’s intelligence, with his resourcefulness—any smell that Khan has would be a subtle one left over from yesterday; he didn’t reapply anything this morning. 

_I have behaved, I think,_ Pavel continues, _I have been sitting here for hours, waiting for my master to ordain to play with me, and now...._ He pauses for a moment, and Khan waits. _Now you are going to give the toilet what I have earned?_

Lifting an eyebrow, Khan answers: _I’m going to piss_.

Pavel lowers his hands. 

Leaning over the brim of the tub, Pavel shifts up onto his knees, and he presses his face into Khan’s crotch, inhaling deeply and nuzzling against the imprint of Khan’s cock. It can’t help but twitch under the attention, and Pavel makes it worse by parting his lips and mouthing along it, leaving hot, damp patches in the fabric of Khan’s black pants. Pavel licks over it and buries his face in the indent, so very tempting and _so_ much better than the toilet. Khan gets the meaning, but it’s a new one for them, and he has to check. He runs his hands back through Pavel’s curls and tugs them gently, pulling Pavel away. He signs: _Are you sure?_

Pavel doesn’t answer exactly, but his burning eyes say it all. Khan bites the inside of his mouth and, not for the first time, is grateful that Pavel can’t hear his groan. He has exemplary self-control, but Pavel... Pavel really is something else. 

At Khan’s nod, Pavel’s busy fingers get to work, divesting Khan’s fly of its confines with a delighted, too-eager smile. Pavel bypasses Khan’s pants and his boxers, reaching in to pull out his cock, stroking it just as lovingly as always. It’s a little hard from the ministrations but still soft enough to go. As soon as Pavel drops his hands, Khan reaches down himself, holding onto his shaft and pointing it down at his boyfriend’s pale collarbone. He has the fleeting thought that he shouldn’t stain the collar, but then, he has a sonic cleaner. He gives Pavel that one extra second to back out that he doesn’t take.

Then Khan lets himself loose. 

A thin trail of gold spurts out of his cock, splashing over the top of Pavel’s chest and drizzling down, painting his soft skin with a glistening shine. To say Khan’s never thought of this would be a lie; he’s imagined all manner of depraved fetishes with his ever-willing boyfriend, the least of which being smothering Pavel in whatever comes out of Khan’s cock. Courtesy prevented him from asking, but now he sees his mistake; Pavel leans into the steady stream, smiling as it strengthens, letting it wash over his adam’s apple and trail down between his hardened nipples. He tilts closer until it’s curving over his chin, and then he opens his mouth very wide, tongue flat along the bottom and reaching out, and he catches what he can. Khan’s piss splatters over his tongue and slicks down the back, while Pavel leans closer and closer and guzzles it up. Khan can’t help but lift his cock to help, and Pavel reaches the mushroom head, sealing his lips around it.

 _Such_ a naughty thing. Khan can’t tell what’s better: the feel of Pavel’s velvety walls around his cock, or the sight of Pavel’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down as it swallows each new batch of Khan’s piss. The idea itself is horribly wicked, and that’s always part of the appeal. 

Khan spills as much as he can, holding nothing back, while Pavel sits and drinks every last bit that he’s given, long lashes down against his cheek and the corners of his lips turned up in a contented smile. When he knows he’s nearing the end, Khan pulls out, despite Pavel’s frown, just so he can flick the last drops over Pavel’s face. That puts the grin back on, and Pavel’s tongue tries to clean off what he can. It still leaves plenty of little yellow beads clinging to his face, some running down. Khan nearly laughs while his stream dwindles, and he doesn’t stop himself in time from signing: _You’re too easy_.

Pavel bites his lip again and signs back: _Just for you._ Which earns him a smirk— _of course._ There’s never any doubt of that. No wonder Pavel needs an augmented boyfriend; he’d be hard pressed to find anyone else who could keep up with him or, worse yet, possess the restraint to not simply fuck him into the ground every minute of every day.

Khan allows himself a minute to tuck himself back into his pants, however near hardness he’s getting, and another just to look at the gorgeous sight of Pavel thoroughly marked by his cock. Pavel sits in the bottom of the bathtub and waits, occasionally plucking at one of the tight clamps around his nipple. Either he’s trying to be enticing—something he’s _very_ good at—or he really is as shameless a slut as Khan teases and just can’t help himself. 

Then Khan lunges for his hair, grabbing it suddenly and using it to push Pavel sideways—Pavel scrambles to make it to all fours. He’s dragged across the tub so he’s positioned properly, the smooth expanse of his back still dry and clean. His ripe ass is held up, made more prominent when Pavel arches, the round cheeks parting slightly as his legs spread. Khan runs one hand along Pavel’s spine, the other still fisted in Pavel’s curls, and he reaches Pavel’s tailbone and rubs over it. He knows better than to stray to Pavel’s ass—if he finds Pavel’s perpetually tight hole, he’ll have a difficult time leaving it. Pavel knows as much, and he lifts his ass as high as he can, swaying slightly like some bizarre, irresistible mating dance. Khan responds promptly with the first strike.

Pavel nearly jumps at the unexpected hit, but he’s been spanked enough times to submissively settle into it. The next one comes just as fast: a hard slap from Khan’s open palm right across both cheeks. He doesn’t give Pavel any time to recover before the third one falls. Khan litters Pavel’s pert bum in hard smacks, just short of bruising. Around the tenth, Pavel’s body starts to tremble, but he’s a good boy, and he takes it, head hung in acceptance. He has his signal he could use if he really wanted it to stop, but he makes no move of protest: just takes what he’s given. Khan rewards him with one slap after the other, until Pavel’s young ass is glowing a bright red and burning hot to the touch. Only then does Khan dig two fingers into Pavel’s crack and rub at the sensitive flesh, earning a strangled, involuntary whimpering sound and shifting hands—Pavel’s clearly struggling to stay up. One more smack, just to be sure. 

Then Khan takes a firm hold of Pavel’s ass and uses it to pull Pavel back, sitting it down against the tub. Pavel winces but sits, and he looks up at Khan with an adorable pout. He signs petulantly: _What was that for?_

_For daring to ask for a new treat and being so tempting when I had my own plans for tonight._

Khan expects Pavel to light up and furiously demand to know what those plans are, but every now and then, he’s unexpected. He signs instead: _You already had your way; you tied me up._

Khan snorts. With how far they’ve gone, that’s more a prerequisite than a plan itself. Khan flashes: _That’s nothing new._ He gets back to his feet and reaches for a hanging, fluffy blue towel and tosses it onto Pavel’s head. Pavel scrambles to pull it off just in time to see Khan finish: _You may come to the bedroom when you’re clean._

He leaves before he can see Pavel’s answer; if he has to spank Pavel again, the poor thing will be too tenderized to take Khan’s cock tonight: something that’s _definitely_ part of the plan.

The vial is right where Khan left it. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and orders the lights down. Khan rolls the glass bottle around in his fingers and contemplates what it’ll taste like—perhaps he should grab some water. But it shouldn’t matter, really. He’d drink it if it tasted like oil. He removes the lid and downs the slick, slippery liquid in one hit. It’s metallic and odd, running too cold, but he couldn’t have expected it to taste like juice. He swallows and puts the bottle back—no apprehension. He’ll be the first to test, but everything added up—there’s no reason it shouldn’t work perfectly. He trusts in his own knowledge and in his superior body’s ability to repress poison. 

For a few minutes, Khan just sits there, waiting for the drug to take effect. At first, he feels nothing, just the usual displeasure at having something strangely textured slicked along his throat. Then he notices a tingling in his hands, and he turns them over, watching the pads of his fingers flicker into a translucent sort of green. That’s as predicted: good. Khan cricks his neck, probing at his mind for the desired mental effects, though he can hardly test them alone. 

By the time Pavel emerges from the bathroom, dry and piss-free—except, of course, for the contents of his stomach—Khan’s confident that this will work. Pavel’s eyebrows still knit together immediately, and as he comes to kneel at Khan’s feet, he asks: _What is it?_ He’s looking at Khan’s glowing fingertips, and Khan uses them to rake back through Pavel’s curls, noting the shiver it causes. 

_It’s a new substance my team has been creating,_ Khan explains, fully aware that Pavel doesn’t have the security clearance to know, but is a trustworthy member of Starfleet nonetheless. Besides, a lab rat has the right to know what it’s being doused in. _It’s intended to develop stronger bonds between captains and first officers. In the event of a crisis with other communication channels down, this could prove invaluable._

 _Stronger bonds?_ Pavel repeats, clearly interested. Khan is his first interest, but starship sciences are never far behind. It’s clear in his big eyes that the idea’s already intrigued him.

 _Think of it like a way for non-Vulcans to experience a mind meld._ If possible, Pavel’s eyes go even wider. _So, my dear ensign Chekov... how would you like to be my guinea pig?_

Pavel doesn’t answer. His hands fall to Khan’s knees, holding on as he lunges up, yearning for kisses that Khan benevolently returns. Their mouths seal together in an instant, Pavel pressing kiss after kiss against his lips and pushing forward tongue, so fervent and lost that the entire thing’s a fiery, delicious mess. Pavel doesn’t stop kissing as he gets to his feet, moving to straddle Khan’s lap, knees digging into the mattress as he plunks himself down over Khan’s crotch. He presses signs into Khan’s chest that a lesser man couldn’t decipher, but Khan reads loud and clear: a litany of begging and pleading, desperate to be let into Khan’s mind, to have Khan in his. Khan isn’t surprised, really; he knew Pavel would more than jump at the chance. He kisses Pavel back and nips at Pavel’s jaw line and grabs Pavel’s hips, resisting the urge to throw him right down to the floor and nail him into it. The nipple clamps dig into Khan’s chest as Pavel writhes, Pavel’s hard cock leaving little stains of precum over his shirt, Pavel’s tongue stealing away all his words and half his thoughts. When he finally manages to pull Pavel back by the collar, Pavel’s still straining to be kissed. 

Khan spells out with one hand: _Be a good boy and lie down on the bed for your master._

Pavel nods, but first he signs: _I wish I were lucky enough to be your first officer._

 _Perhaps someday._ He keeps to himself that he knows he’ll never find a cleverer or more fiercely loyal partner, not to mention anyone able to keep up with and please him so well. His own crew would, of course, flank him, but Pavel would share his thrown. 

Grinning too wide for someone who’s about to be fucked by a monster cock that could split him in two, Pavel slips off Khan’s lap. He crawls over the mattress, making a proper show of it, ass high and wagging back and forth as he turns, slipping slowly down to his stomach and rolling his hips into the dark sheets once. Then he turns carefully onto his back, one hand up behind his neck while the other runs down his body, tracing lean lines and subtle curves. He bypasses his cock and slides his finger down beneath his balls—Khan glances to check. Pavel prepares himself constantly, of course, has to, but the last time wasn’t soon enough; he’ll need a little more. Khan considers going in for a taste, but then, that’s never quite enough for what he has to offer. Today, he needs everything to be as smooth as possible, because there’s no telling how bumpy the rest of the ride will be. 

Like reading his mind, Pavel reaches back for the nightstand, but he can’t quite reach the drawer. He stays with his arm outstretched while Khan crosses the distance for him, opening the drawer and finding their latest, half-empty bottle. He brings it close enough for Pavel to take some, pouring out a healthy handful and running down to grasp Khan’s cock. Another time, Khan might slap his delicate fingers away, tell him to wait until he’s told, but tonight, Khan lets Pavel bring out and coat his length. He focuses on the mess in his own hand, putting the bottle back and reaching for Pavel’s ass. He strokes the cleft between Pavel’s cheeks, always amused with how easily Pavel lifts for him, how Pavel’s body swoons into every touch. He runs his fingers along to the tight ring of muscles still slightly moist from earlier, and he smothers them in more lube. Pavel sucks in a breath, opening for one of Khan’s fingers to push through. He circles the little puckered hole and pops inside, greeted instantly with heat and pressure. Pavel looks up at him so very happily, and Khan bends down to kiss Pavel’s forehead while he pistons his finger deeper. 

A bit of teasing, a bit of stretching, and Pavel’s walls eventually yield for a second finger. Khan waits until he has three being sucked deeper, scissoring wider, before he slips out, leaving Pavel’s ass quivering with the want for more. Khan pats one thigh and moves between them—Pavel opens wide, wrapping his legs naturally around Khan’s still-clothed body. It’s part of their game, in a way, a sign of Khan’s impatience, in another. Pavel looks up at him with complete and utter adoration, while Khan holds the tip of his thick cock to Pavel’s tiny entrance, ready for the burn and squeeze of such a young, tight lover. His own enhanced cock, greater than any non-augment’s in both length and girth, has no business being in someone so small. But Pavel will take it beautifully, of course, take it willingly, even ask for more, and have no idea of the delicious sounds his body will make in trying to house a cock too big. Khan poises over him and waits for Pavel to sign: _Please?_

Khan pushes inside. 

Pavel arches instantly, reaching up to cling at Khan’s shoulder, and Khan drapes over him, hyper aware of the myriad of expressions tumbling over his lover’s face. Pavel’s mouth opens wide—too much, at first, always is—but then grit teeth, trying to suck it in, and Khan can feel the squeeze in Pavel’s ass around him. It’s so warm inside, scorching hot, so smooth and velvety and _tight_ , tighter than anyone who gets fucked half as much as Pavel should have any right to be. But Pavel pulls at the fabric over his shoulders and tries to reach up to kiss him—Khan turns his head to the side and lets his neck be kissed and bitten while he starts to piston in. A centimeter out, two centimeters in: a torturously slow but necessary movement. Pavel takes more and more, body trembling, and Khan strokes his sides to let him know that he’s being good, very good. Khan runs his hands around the milky skin of Pavel’s thighs, and he pushes until he’s fully sheathed, Pavel nearly writhing from the sensations. 

Khan lets him get his bearings. His breathing takes a minute to steady, hands falling from Khan’s shirt, and he lies back in the pillows, staring up through flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. Khan strokes his smaller cock once, only once, because any more would be cruel—the cockring around the base keeps him firmly under Khan’s control. Not that it’s needed. Pavel’s become quite adept at holding himself back for his master’s whim; the binding is just to look nice. 

Finally, Pavel signs, breathing hard and arching up from where he’s thoroughly impaled: _When are you going to do it?_

Khan grabs the clamp around Pavel’s left nipple and tugs absently, playing with it while he spells out: _Don’t make me handcuff you to the bed._

_I would speak if you made me._

Smirking broadly, Khan signs on his descent: _Don’t make me gag you; I so enjoy that mouth of yours._ When he reaches it, Pavel opens for him: another passionate kiss. Pavel’s lips always feel like he never left, taste just the way he remembers, press hard and yield soft. Khan loses himself in one kiss, then rocks his hips away and slams back inside. 

Something between a gasp and a choke comes out of Pavel’s throat, and Khan swallows it up with his next thrust. He pulls almost all the way out, then shoves in hard enough to make Pavel’s ass bounce off the mattress. Pavel’s arms wrap around his back, trying to keep him in, but Khan has no intention of going anywhere. He devours Pavel’s mouth and fucks Pavel’s body, drinking in every little tremor and the way that Pavel’s thighs cling tightly to his sides. Pavel claws at his shirt and digs blunt nails through to his skin, kisses along his jaw and his lips and over every part of skin within reach, while Khan fucks him brutally. If he’d done this when they first started, he would’ve split Pavel apart, made him bleed and convulse, but now he’s got a trained pet that’s perfectly used to taking his monster cock. Pavel knows how to move with each thrust, how to relax his muscles and squeeze at just the right times. One of his hands smoothes back around to Khan’s chest and presses signs into him, single, stilted letters that Khan has to scrape to piece together: _Please,_ and, _Take me,_ and, _Khan._ Khan surges back into Pavel and kisses him hard. 

Khan doesn’t stop his hips, not for a second, but he does slip one hand between their bodies, keying the same sequence into the cockring that let the handcuffs go. It jumps loose, and Pavel arches, sucking in breath, but Khan sits up and keeps fucking him, signs to him quickly: _Don’t you dare come. You’re mine and you’ll hold._ Pavel looks in agony, but he nods. His training’s been intense, thorough; he can do this. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t explode. The way that he looks at Khan says it all: Khan’s the cruelest man on this Earth, and Pavel would have no one less. 

He’s earned what he has coming. Khan’s read enough to know what to do. He places his fingers strategically around Pavel’s face with utter confidence, parted in the same way a Vulcan would—Pavel must recognize it. His heart looks like it’s going to beat out of his chest. For the first moment, nothing happens, just the merciless slam of Khan’s cock into Pavel’s pliant body. Then he slowly drapes himself back down over his lover, and he rests his forehead against Pavel’s. It’s a little moist with the beginnings of sweat. Khan’s going to make him work much, much harder. 

Khan closes his eyes and concentrates. He gathers himself like a storm, and he pushes forward into Pavel’s mind. There are no expectations. But he finds Pavel _there_ , like an extended part of himself, just waiting to be swept into.

One minute he’s _Khan Noonien Singh,_ and the next, he’s rushing through the flood into a world of _Pavel Andreievich Chekov_ , his consciousness ripped from his body.

Everything that he is spirals forward, wraps him in a cocoon of emotions and memories that don’t belong to him, blankets him so close that it leaks in through his translucent skin, unravels him back down at Pavel’s feet. He finds himself wrapped in what _Pavel_ is, what it feels like to breathe through smaller lungs, to see through a different shade of eyes. Khan knows, even as he fumbles through the mind of another, that he would never, _ever_ do this with anyone else; he trusts Pavel like he’s never trusted anyone; Pavel’s in his head and that’s _fine_ , because he’s in Pavel’s, staring out the big glass windows of a little house in the Russian countryside. He’s watching the snow fall, pressing tiny, child’s hands to the window and fogging up the glass with his breath. He’s seeing the world through four senses instead of five, and that’s part of what hits him so abruptly, makes him stumble back from the glass—he’s always known what Pavel does and doesn’t have, but Khan’s never truly known, could _never_ know, what it’s like to live in silence. He turns from the walls and sees a tall woman chopping apples over a wooden island, and when the knife comes crashing down on the cutting board, he can’t hear a thing. 

He rushes across the floor and signs to her so fast—the snow—he wants to play in it—it’s fresh and others are outside, bigger children, but everyone’s always bigger, and his mother laughs—he can’t hear it and doesn’t know what it sounds like, but he can _see_ and that registers. She tells him with distracted hands that she’s busy—they can go in an hour—but Pavel’s young and excited and he doesn’t want to wait an hour he wants to go _now_ because it’s snowing and that’s marvelous, like millions of little, fluffy stars dancing down through the sky of the air. 

He’s being put on a horse, a real, Earth horse, and it’s terrifying—much too big for him. He clings to the reins in abject horror and doesn’t have long enough legs to do what his father instructed him to. This is insane. He wants down. Khan could ride a horse better than a professional rider before he hit puberty, but in Pavel’s body, he shies away and wants to come down, and his father tells him he’ll never be anything if he doesn’t stop cowering from big, beautiful things. He’s given a toy starship and he runs around with it, wondering what space is like. His mother tells him there’s no sound in space, and Pavel’s comfortable with his toy. He puts it on the other end of his bed and looks at it under the glow of the nightlight when he goes to sleep.

He’s older and he’s painting, fingers trembling, he thinks he might be good if he could just stop trying to piece it out like a set of preplanned numbers. He takes a deep breath through Pavel’s lunges, and Khan’s in that strange mix of awareness; he can feel a splinter in his thumb from the old fashioned brush, smell the earthy scent of the stretched, raw canvas. _How do Vulcans reconcile all this?_ He’s speeding through a rush of Pavel’s entire _life_ , every emotion, every secret—this is too much for Starfleet but he _wants_ —he’s hungry for every millimeter of _Pavel_ that he can get. His cousin calls him ‘Andre’ and smears blue paint all over his reds, ruining his dyslexic-looking portrait of the hillside.

He’s so good at class, so _good_. This is it; his place. He follows navigation, star patterns, engineering, spatial physics. He’s small and not tenacious, not like Red Squad, but he aces everything after barely even trying, though he does _try_. He devours every piece of information he can get his hands on, because he’s going to be in Starfleet. He’s going to get on a starship faster than anyone else ever has. He isn’t going to wait until he’s older. He does well. He’s given merits. He’s ignored by others, but he’s... he’s still, he thinks, succeeding.

Once, a professor takes him aside and gently asks if he wants to partake in an experiment, something a new Federation race can change—perhaps they can make him hear. They can make the petty human hearing aides seem like trinkets, and Pavel doesn’t know—he’s spent his whole life with a sense that he’s never missed because he’s never known it. He can’t explain that to a professor that’s different, but he gets too swamped in homework to ever follow up and it saves him the trouble of awkward explanations. 

Once, a professor squeezes his shoulder too tight and offers him a place on a starship— _a real starship_ —all he has to do is sit in the professor’s lap and call him _daddy_. Disgust twists Pavel’s chest, and searing, hot rage fills Khan’s—he wants to press forward through the memory and strangle the professor’s throat, but it’s a face he doesn’t recognize, and as the memories march on, he realizes why—that professor was turned in. Pavel said no. But Pavel cried over it and shook and wondered for days if he’d done the right thing—he could’ve been up in the stars for hardly anything. He shakes his head and tells himself he’ll find someone else, but that person never comes along—it’s just him and PADDs of information, and then he meets a stunning pilot that means _so much to him_ , but, as Khan’s blood freezes with an irrational jealousy that has no place in Pavel’s body, Hikaru turns out to be just a very, very good friend.

He meets Khan in line for coffee at the Academy. Khan doesn’t even bother with what he’s doing there—maybe Pavel’s seeing his side on the other side. He sees Pavel blanch at such an attractive man— _a handsome Adonis,_ Pavel thinks, and Khan almost preens, just smirks in his head, sees the way Pavel stares and flushes and tries to read Khan’s lips. Pavel wants to stop Khan and ask... anything. But what could he have to say to a man like that? Khan wants to play with their nonexistent selves like toys in a dollhouse, push them together and set them off to the stars.

Pavel sees him again in the gardens. None of the other memories matter, they flicker and blur around this; this is part of who Pavel _is_. He sees something that he desperately wants to know, and he almost trips over himself in his excitement, stands behind the fountain, quite by accident, and tells himself he can do it, over and over. He marches over and he passes a PADD to Khan that reads: _May I ask how you expect to bypass the high quantities of theta radiation that experiment will inevitably produce?_ Because he isn’t above reading over shoulders. 

A flicker of interest passes through Khan’s eyes, he thinks, _Khan knows_ , and Pavel wants to scurry off but takes the seat he’s offered. Khan asks, in Standard Sign Language, if he’s Deaf, and Pavel signs back yes, how did he know? A PADD could’ve meant he was shy. But brash enough to ask such a question and presume to worm in. Khan says that he called after Pavel at the coffee stand, so either Pavel’s Deaf or very rude.

Pavel grins. He feels nearly giddy—how does Khan know sign? Khan learned overnight; for a man like him, it wasn’t hard. Pavel thinks he’s lying, but Khan wants to tell him in his mind, no, it was true—it was all true. They talked and they moved closer, and a month later they’re sitting in a restaurant, and Khan’s touching his leg under the table, asking him if he wants a little more.

They’re stumbling through an apartment, and Khan scoops Pavel up by the waist, so very easy, throws him on the bed, and Pavel’s begging for more, wants _everything_ —Khan says that’s dangerous and Pavel knows, wants it, wants to be Khan’s and take everything Khan can give. The more Khan ties him up, the harder he gets. When he gets spanked for the first time, he comes after five blows all over Khan’s leg. He sneaks into Khan’s office and blows Khan under the desk, gets fucked in all the bathrooms of the Academy and once on Admiral Marcus’ desk—one of Khan’s favourite times. Once, he’s trying to send a letter to his parents, and he breaks down with the sudden realization that he’s madly in love, more in love than he could ever explain in words. 

He’s offered a commission on a starship. Khan never knew this. In Pavel’s memory, Khan stumbles back from his body, watching Pavel take the PADD from Admiral Pike with trembling fingers. Pavel spends that single night alone—Khan was working late; he remembers—and Pavel just stares out his window for _hours_ , sick to his stomach with the thought of ever leaving Khan’s arms. 

It wasn’t long ago. Khan wants more memories. He wants to rush through months and months of Pavel thinking, of some other resolution, doesn’t want it to end with Pavel tethered down because of him, but then he rushes up to this morning, of meeting and running into Khan’s arms, of being bound up in the tub and not even thinking about a career that he _does_ want, because he has _Khan_ and he won’t let that go. The ferocity that Pavel thinks it with emanates hard enough through Khan’s mind that it makes it difficult to move forward, it stops time in that instance of Pavel thinking there will be other starships, but there won’t be other men, not like this. He’s young and he has time. A silk blindfold’s wrapped over his eyes, but he doesn’t need to see. Khan could put a mask over his face—stop him from smelling. Tie him up so tight to cut off his circulation and stopping him from feeling. He _knows_ he has Khan, and he trusts so implicitly, loves so unconditionally. He learns that they can form a bond deeper than any human has any right to have, and he almost cries. 

He is crying. It’s not something Khan remembers. Khan’s eyes are stinging but dry, and he stumbles out of the mind meld, jerking back to life with a cry and a gasp of oxygen, pressing down into Pavel’s burning forehead. Pavel’s sobbing and clinging to Khan so desperately, fingers scrunched in his hair and biting into his back. Khan knows everything he saw. The experimentation, the years in and out of labs and hospitals, the Genetic Wars, the genocide, the necessary evils and the blame he took for everyone else’s fears. The palaces he owned and the people he worked with and the crew he promised to protect. Meeting Pavel and being intrigued. Maybe starting off just with that—a cute insider, a good fuck, but falling, finding and knowing this is something, somehow, he could share more than just his heart with. 

His hips have stopped somewhere along the lines, but when he rocks into Pavel again, Pavel chokes and comes immediately, splashing Khan’s chest and crying harder, shaking all over. Khan holds him, understands, stays hard and inside and doesn’t want to change that, just holds Pavel while Pavel shivers and stumbles down. He knows it must’ve been overwhelming, so overwhelming. He has years and centuries on Pavel; that wasn’t fair. He can feel the lingering connection between them, and he soothes, without signs or his voice, _It’s okay. I’ve got you._

 _I love you,_ Pavel sobs, and it’s strong, just the same, straight from Pavel’s head into his. It’s strange to hear a ‘voice’ from Pavel, though it’s not really a _voice_ , and it’s fleeting, not something he can hold onto, sort of like a reflection of his own tinted with his own impressions. It’s precious. He can’t even tell if they’re saying words, if he’s hearing them, or if they’re imprinting in each other’s heads like written words. It’s just... direct thought that he couldn’t even explain. This is too powerful for Starfleet. 

Maybe he should give up being a scientist and pursue that starship sooner—he pushes: _You gave up a ship for me._

 _No. No,_ Pavel insists, _I’m waiting for you. I’ll go with you._

Khan rocks his hips into Pavel again; Pavel’s face scrunches up, but he takes it. Khan wants to tell him he’s a very bad boy, turning down something so big, but then, he’s the best thing Khan could ever hope for. Khan _will_ get his ship. He had the Earth, once; one little ship is nothing. He kisses Pavel’s cheek and he grins down into Pavel’s body; Pavel nuzzles into the side of his face and puts in his head: _This is good. If I don’t have to sign; I don’t have to let go of you. Fuck me again._

 _I just did._ He’s so content, feels almost too good, he’s dizzy but still hard. Head’s so foggy. He doesn’t know how long the bond will last, or at least, how strong it’ll stay. He signs belatedly: _I love you,_ into Pavel’s chest, because he isn’t going to let that go. 

_I love you, too. Fuck me again._

_You’re sore._

_I want to be aching from your cock. I don’t want to be able to leave this bed for days. I’ve had your head and now I know I have your heart and I want your body, too._

A part of Khan wants to throw Pavel over the edge of the bed, spank him raw and tell him that _he_ belongs to _Khan_. But the rest of Khan is reeling from the too-recent meld, still rippling from the after effects of knowing what it’s like to be everything that Pavel is. And he wants all of that, and he wants more. Pavel _has_ all those things: every part of him. He wants Pavel’s too. 

He slams down into Pavel, shoving into Pavel so deep that he half expects to feel himself pressing against Pavel’s stomach. Pavel’s soaked in sweat, and Khan’s no better, his shirt and pants glued to his body, but Pavel’s fingers scramble at the hems. Khan slams in one more time before sitting up—he pulls out of Pavel’s trembling body with a slick, wet pop. It leaves Pavel’s stretched hole gaping and convulsing, but Khan doesn’t have the time right now to stop and take it in. He’s busy wrenching his shirt over his head, then scrunching down his underwear and pants at the same time, wriggling out of them and tossing them aside. He’s left completely bare, staring down at Pavel like the hungry predator he is, while Pavel’s legs bend back and his arms open wide. There’s a white pool of cum on his stomach. His bangs are slicked down with sweat, his eyes half lidded and his pupils so dilated they’re almost entirely black. He looks the picture of debauchery, and he’s Khan’s for the taking. 

Khan fits back into his arms and between his legs, sinking back into his ass like they never parted; this is where Khan belongs. The squeeze is just as tight, just as exquisite, the heat swallowing him up and making his member pulse with delight. He falls back down to bring their mouths together, and Pavel kisses him so very sweetly. 

Khan doesn’t have it in him to make love. Not right now. Not with everything surging through him, not with Pavel crying directly into his head: _Harder, faster, yes, right there, oh, you always find it, Khan... Khan..._ Pavel strokes him and begs and takes him, brutal slam after slam, the air pierced with the violent sounds of skin-on-skin and the heavy stench of sex. Pavel tells him: _You were magnificent. You faced such odds, and you were so strong, so great. You are a king. My king. You will be my captain..._

 _Yesss._ Khan’s never wanted something, someone, so desperately. But Khan Noonien Singh doesn’t want; he takes. He claims Pavel with his cock, with his mouth, with his hands and every part of his body, draped over and encasing Pavel completely, swallowing Pavel up into his world. He fucks Pavel hard and kisses Pavel harder, roars into his head: _Mine_ , and hears the exact same thing sent back at him. _Yes._

When he comes, it’s a tidal wave, a tornado that wracks through his body and into Pavel’s mind; he fills Pavel up with love and cum and keeps thrusting, keeps driving it in. he’s going to make Pavel burst with it, drench Pavel’s insides in his seed, fuck Pavel so hard that Pavel won’t be able to walk away, won’t ever be able to leave. There are no words. He presses his face against Pavel’s, and they know, they both know. He shudders down into an ocean of ecstasy, so swamped he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to swim back up.

But as his hips rock to a finish, he starts to come down gently, hypersensitive and newly aware of the hard cock against his stomach. He reaches down to jerk Pavel off a second time, though this one is small and quick, spilling hardly anything. Pavel still shudders and arches and feels like heaven. Khan was always so sure that was the one place he’d never be allowed to go.

Khan doesn’t want to leave, but he’s too heavy to do this, to stay up and crush Pavel down. He slips out with a hiss and rolls to the side, happy when Pavel rolls over a split second later, curling instantly into his side. Pavel signs with near-trembling fingers, _That was amazing._

It was. He doesn’t know whether to sign it or transfer it, but it doesn’t matter; Pavel knows. Khan kisses Pavel’s sweat-stained curls, still panting almost as hard as Pavel is. He’s exhausted. From the meld, from the sex. 

He could slip off right here.

Then, glowing bright, Pavel signs out of nowhere: _You were a cute child._

_And you ate yellow snow. My, my, and here I thought tonight was a new thing._

Looking mildly horrified, Pavel punches him in the arm and signs with big hazel eyes: _That was one time!_ And he was five, but he doesn’t have to say it. The worry that Pavel’s seen him, all of him, and knows everything, simply isn’t there. It’s safe. It’s good. They could lie like this and play trivia all night, but Khan’s too exhausted and spent. He’s too tired to bother climbing under the blankets, so he orders the room temperature up, aware of Pavel watching his lips move. 

He settles back in, and he promises: _I will get you that ship._ He will, he knows, someday. He doesn’t mention the USS Vengeance’s prototype—the next model in the works, because it’s still in the works, but part of him thinks that Pavel might know. It doesn’t matter. They’ll find a way there, and in the meantime, there won’t be any worry of their captain-first officer bond. 

He kisses Pavel again, and he means it hard, but finds it coming soft and chaste, chiseled down with being tired and sickeningly in love. Pavel pecks him back just as sweet and nuzzles him, tucks into his side, fitting right against him. 

_I love you._

_I love you, too._

When they fall asleep, their dreams intermingle. Pavel stands with Khan on the balcony of his palace, and they watch the falling Russian snow.


End file.
